The Tail of The Dragon Raw
Tail Of The Dragon Concluding the first year of the Millenium by Christopher J. Bradley Completed December 31 2000 12:25 AM An Afternoon Out Alone by Christopher J. Bradley 8/9/00 10:46:16 PM Today I spent an afternoon out Drove my Saturn to the Cafe' Through the beginning of a Thunderstorm And waited in line for a restroom. I ordered a Mocha And sat down Delighted to encounter an old friend A Bag Maker who'd survived a heart attack. He had been playing chess With an African and maybe an Arabian At the place I call the Spot As many others do... We talked in the ferocious rain On the patio Where he told me about his implant And we discussed the merits of American Health. I knew he needed transportation So I gave him a quick ride back to Allen And then circled around back to Elmwood Avenue And drove all the way up the well lit strip to the theater. I watched the Coyote Ugly After being harassed by the nameless ticket seller Who wasn't fond of the film Which turned out to be a great deal better than I had expected. I drove up Delaware on the way home And cut over Sheridan to the Boulevard To stop at my favorite bookstore To buy a copy of this morning's Wall Street Journal. Then with the fifty cents in my pocket I decided to take the express way home and make it an early night So that I could write this poem. While my father and brother watched Toy Story on Video Cassette. And my sister kept me from the Internet for a minute long enough. Electronic Music Workshop Dedicated to Bernard Pasquintino Chris Udy Mark Traine Rob Brown Craig Hyla Paula Bucelato Paul Wos the Jazz musicians of The Niagara Falls High School Band and my fellow students. by Christopher J. Bradley 4/8/00 6:20:00 AM Where was I at the beginning of it all? The era of direct to analog? Sample to Sequence to Four Track... Staring at a catalog for a Fairlight... I Bombed into the studio running With barely a wit about me Just knowing that I could do it I could be my own Peter Gabriel. How could Paula in homeroom know she'd changed my life By showing me the album cover for Depeche Mode 101 the one I'd kept seeing on Hyla's shirt As he walked down the hallway with Severely Spiked Hair. Two weeks and I was figuring out the ESQ-1 Popping beats out on the TR-404. Four weeks and I was setting MIDI channels and linking up to the ROLAND S10. Multi-Channel Sequencing Multiple Instruments 32 channels of bliss In a four walled dirty white room With posters on the ceiling. I locked myself in for study hall And came out with a disk full of composition Suddenly there was a new toy in my own room The Ensoniq Performance Sampler. And at the end of the year My "Guitar Trio in C Harmonic Minor" Came out on 100 cassettes Along with Pasquintino's "Mary Had a Little Scarecrow" And so many others that the titles are a blur. The Auditorium blacked out during the 1989 Homecoming Rally And Sal danced in an Indian Headdress Made of Construction paper feathers While the band played. Traine with his Guitar and Pedals Udy with the Sequencers and Drum Machines And Bernie masterfully fingering the black and white plastic whipped us all into a frenzy. The three of them won a Casio synth and several other instruments for the workshop After a battle of electronica in New York City. We had some fun at Christmas that year in The Wintergarden Playing our Multi-Layered tunes for A small but possibly international audience that included TJ Insana who would later become Jesus At least for 3 shows. I started getting Rob Into it and by 1990 he had an Ensoniq board too And we slammed some tracks together for Class Day and snapped sticks against drumpads to trigger Orchastra Hits. Rob went into the Marines and By College I was striking my own keys. But those stories are for prose And for what you can find from the music Because the music is really all there is The rest is just settings for cracked actors And the life of the sound Comes from the people who craft it Even if they are only somewhat famous children in a world that only sees through cathode ray static. Driver's Education Dedicated to Niagara Catholic High School by Christopher Bradley I can't remember how much it cost or quite what I was up to that summer but in 1988 I attended driver's education and drove my first new car. Of course the car wasn't mine It was leased to the school A nice large Buick LeSabre with Air Conditioning. I learned all kinds of road signs and accident statistics And talked a lot to a shy girl named Amy who I had worked with for the school in eighty seven. It was a privilage to learn to drive and tour a vehicle around the back streets off of Cayuga drive. And pull onto an expressway for the first time confident that I would find the freedom of the road at every slight maneuver through the time of my life. Homecoming Crash Dedicated to Isaac Panzarella and Charlene Scozzafava by Christopher J. Bradley 4/8/00 4:08:26 AM It was too real that night the night we left the dance the first night I ever thought I was going to make things happen. We had plans to get hammered. It was if the gymnasium had been lacking in all of its fanfare that year except for the fact that I had danced with a girl. She had short curling hair Together we had learned to speak and write Japanese Doitachmaschte and Sayonara. Hiragana and Katakana. She wore a black dress with a white rose wrist corsage. I wore my white suit with black pinstripes and her floral adornment. They played one or two songs that defined the time Information Society - Pure Energy And we danced to everything slow Titles I can't remember : Except for Stairway to Heaven. So we left together and climbed into Mom and Dad's red wagon and slowly pulled onto Portage. I took Ferry and decided to follow 16th back to Pine. That's when the laughing started A slightly intoxicated laughter broke through the back And as I turned to see what was happening The shadows crept over the stop sign at Walnut. So there we were 20 feet from clear of the other side of Walnut And my foot finally hit the brake pedal. The car stopped. Terrors of twisted limbs massacred my neurons as I saw the light Twin beams flashing toward us at 40 miles an hour. My foot wouldn't move. And then Fender contacted Axle. Everything was in motion Welcome to the Jungle But somehow we just bounced left and stopped And everyone was still uniform. There were flashing lights before I could open my door A man with a hat a flashlight and a Gun I got out and talked with him I had checked to make sure we were all ok. It was a man who lived on my paper route He asked me if I had been drinking I said no And he wrote me a ticket for failing to yield right of way. The other driver had been speeding and he had been following her Just our luck right? Not Exactly. The Axle absorbed the massive force of the other car but it cost $800.00 to repair I had to work it off that year And Charlene seemed to vanish after Rob and Karen helped me get her home. Ike and I rode the bus for a couple of weeks I'm still not sure I'm over it though It's not exactly like bumping into that first telephone pole It's something a little closer to Falling "off target" in Skydiver. End of Shift By Christopher Bradley 12/7/00 10:55:39 PM Time to turn off the blenders And the taps And the strobe lights And close the doors. Time for the people to go away To their parties And homes And various places of rest. They called the bar almost an hour ago And the last lingerers are making out with the staff And looking for cab rides away And counting how much money they have left in their wallets. We've had a colossal night And the ceilings have rained with the fire of laser beams And the women have danced on the speakers And taken off their shirts. And the Go-Go dancers have gone And the Inspectors have Inspected And the Police have had drink with the People And the Ambulances have carried the drunks away. And the DJ was like a Promethean God With Rhythms and Tempos meshing on the fly And even a few men have been given to the drunken folly Of trying to follow a simple beat at 130. It is time to pack up the flyers And laminated cards And clean out the Ice Bins And pick up the shards. It's End of Shift now And we're ready to go We'll be open tomorrow Through Rain Hail or Snow. Roulette and Madame Zilch By Christopher Bradley 12/7/00 11:35:08 PM Dedicated to the Roulette Players of the World and Scott Ansel We called you Madame Zilch Before the ball Rolled And we were dead on How could we have known. Your name was something Russian And it sounded harsh Just like the Zeros You dealt us with panache. The wheel kept revolving For a half hour or so And we saw all of our numbers And more pass go But you kept striking Zero And spoiling the show Soon after a Double And nothing to front Which made us see trouble And let's not be blunt. When you lose at Roulette It's not always bad luck. Lunches with Joe By Christopher Bradley 1/17/00 5:48 AM Dedicated to Joe Cronin Joe lives a few blocks away It seems at times that we are worlds apart. He has a job as a substitute teacher At a school in Lewiston. We had lunch today At a Chinese restaurant That he introduced me to A good while ago. I started having lunch with him About 4 years ago And we started remembering What all of the times We had lunch when we were six. Back then we ate Macaroni and Cheese And watched cable television. After school we would play table hockey In his basement. I remember a time A very innocent time When we played with plastic dinosaurs In his bathtub. A few years from then Joe had collected impressions Of his favorite television personalities And I was close by to record them On the tape recorder That my mother bought for me my birthday. Joe got Piano lessons because I had them And I got a keyboard because Joe had one. We shared keyboard magazines Every once in a while In seventh grade. Joe was living with his father For most of high school And I had a very vague Idea Of where exactly that was until just before I was leaving for college. A couple of years ago he gave me a hockey card He had remembered that I had liked John LeClair somehow From one of those conversations Over a table of some kind of food. I don't know how we started seeing each other again for lunch It was as if three years disappeared in a haze But now it is nice when he calls And I get to remember That I did have one friend who stuck around Until this very day. Joe at George's By Christopher J. Bradley 7/26/00 7:25:27 PM Joe takes me to George's A new restaurant that used to be something else And I am trying to be calm and forget the banking incident That I most recently fell prey to. Things are interesting here There is no one around And he is reading the paper Seeking out apartment possibilities. I am perplexed as to what to say. I am poor and it is more than obvious. I offer my last $3.00 for the tip. Someday this will all clear up. It always does It just keeps taking time. Chemistry 7 Dedicated to Rich Tanya Scott Smiley Mark Dante and Alx by Christopher Bradley 4/14/00 12:28:48 AM December twenty third nineteen ninety two The end of my first year home from Chicago First go at the Biz for myself I had only an inkling of what I was in for. Scott and I drove up to Tanya's early in the day She lived a few streets down behind Yonge and Bay In a large Red Brick apartment With narrow staircases. Scott and I met some of her roomates And then went for a walk to get Pizza and Change. It was a long walk across to Yonge on foot. And we encountered some interesting places along the way. Somehow weeks later I would find a highly liberal magazine Dedicated to Angry Dykes In the trunk of the Shadow I think we had thought it was amusing during our walk. We found a small Italian Restaurant Had a slice or two and a soda And then resumed until we found the Arcade. It was almost straight ahead when we got to Yonge. The vendor sold us neatly wrapped Loonies and a bundle of red twos. We walked back Barely aware of our own conversation. I was still in amazement at my luck Sean had gone to Europe and I was stuck with an exclusive party. It was as if the world had fallen into my lap. We snagged Tanya and had her walk us to the subway and we met Rich the skater David's friend Soon to be the only sober one among us. We packed Tanya's boyfriend into the car with all of us and stopped at a Mini-Mart to buy all of their Ice. The bags melted slowly all around my backseat passengers. And then we were on our way East to the hidden warehouse. The structure was longer than I had imagined but had a low ceiling. We walked along a Handicapped access ramp at about 9:20. And dragged the water and Ice behind us. I dropped my bags in the entranceway when I saw it It was more than just a test image It was the Lawnmower Man He was twisting hexagonal cubes attempting to escape cyber confinement. The projectors were replicating him on every available wall Tiny camera looking things Attached to girders in the ceiling The speakers were vibrating the room without any music playing. I saw Alx and asked where we were to go He showed us to a small room Where I thought we would never be seen There was a blacklight bulb in the ceiling. We grabbed a board with a Jack O Lantern painted on it And made a makeshift table with a rough metal frame and Drew Posters on Neon Red and Green Poster Board And hung them on the sweaty thin grey wooden walls. I organized the change in the cashbox Opened the powders Mixed some test drinks And then it was time to find a fix. We found our paper and shared it One hit of the Dreamscape was enough And we were sizzling when the first bass beat rolled. Rich would help us keep our heads together and we barely knew him. Tanya was going to get what she wanted I promised her a trip home to Detroit I was thinking about shopping for Records and stopping off at Karl's We could never predict that she'd be riding home with a broken nose. Tanya was the candy girl I sent her into the masses with Smarties at midnight To hand them out with paper flyers Printed out on my 520 and photocopied at OfficeMax. Mental Jackhammer was having its first run with customers winding their way into our little party room Following the flashes of the Strobe Light against the wall And lining up for Fast Blast and Brain Boost. Scott was a confused Mixer While Rich sorted the Cups And I counted the change. Everything was going smoothly. We were addressed by the Master's of Ceremony And motioned into acts of dancing Working the table to the selections of Dr. No Mark Oliver and Alx. I didn't know the title at the time But it was the first time I would hear The Future Sound of London's Papua New Guinea Wailing through the warm air Washing chills through the crowd. I walked among them Seeing women in silver sequined suits Smiling and laughing as if in orbit Feeling like my black canvas converse were the soft cushions of moon boots. There was a game to play I looked on at the fried teens with their heads in round helmets standing on magnetic plates trying to kill the virtual pterodactyl that swooped down from its perch to lift them into the air and drop their cartoon bodies to the perfectly flat pavement where they shattered and began again. I was told it was driven by a high end Amiga. In the catacombic rooms at the back bodies writhed against the cold floor Some of them cross legged Waving their heads entranced To the gentle electronic buzzings Infiltrating their minds. A Jester in a Riot sock looped through the crowd Grinning Knowing that a good part of this madness was his doing. Coming around and through the back I encountered Smiley and his Italian friend. They had bought drinks And they wanted to let me know that they loved us. I told them that I loved them too And walked them around to the bar Stealing two cups from Scott and sharing them with Smiley and his friend. Smiley offered me some Vicks to put under my nose and I accepted The vapors stirred the paisley spirals Out of my tricking Axons and They vanished and the line became convulsive. There were hands reaching for the bar And before I knew it We had run out of twos. I told Tanya to get in front of the door And let no one enter. That was a sight I wrangled in my mind for a solution to the problem of the twos And looked to Scott for help But he was lost in the cups with the Braun Blender And I noticed that people were frantically trying to push past Tanya Her petite body was being pushed back And her arms were stretched from the door. As they washed in and she rushed back to the bar I noticed the Loonies And Scott and Rich laughed as the Ice melted in the colored plastic goblets. We had the means to make change for the moment at least. At 3:30 the celebrities came calling Mark Oliver and his Zebra clad girl Dropped twenty for two drinks And gave us some African Gum That minted our mouths Until almost the end. Rich talked Tanya into filling cups with Ice Even when there were twenty full And she ran to get a big bucket from the water bar When ours was finally liquid in bags In the dust on the concrete. And then Dante was there With a bald head and a centaur's Goatee Looking like an incarnation of the devil himself And he handed me a business card And another twenty And said we should all come to New York And work at one of his parties. It seemed so far away But his face was domestic at least A reminder that we were Americans Toiling on foreign soil. At some point in there Tanya's boyfriend danced carelessly And his fist cracked cartilage Her nose was bleeding The best we could do Is give her some ice. Dante's friend came to visit us later He bought drinks too He was a black man With short Jamaican dreads With a muscular build Sporting bright yellow overalls He was the last of the out of towners that we saw that night. Scott had gotten himself up there somewhere To a place I dared not voyage Because some tall kid had given him Something special for free. The sun was starting to shine through the windows And the inside of my eyelids kept flashing Even after we turned off the strobe And I watched the dancers continue to lock their joints on the floor Even after the music receded. It was time to count up the various colored bills Give Alx two hundred for our wonderful space Gather up the powders and lights And meet back at Tanyas. That morning in her living room I thought I saw the floating letters For the name of a new Rave promotions team In a painting of a red Mars Scape on the wall behind her. I couldn't help thinking that her nose was partly my responsibility But I can't choose the friends of strangers And I couldn't do anything but drive them home again And sit and watch her swelling nostrils. My eyes twisted the letters into the word Phoicos. And I made the pronouncement That one day we would have a party And one day not so far off into the future We did. Atlantis Vertigo by Christopher Bradley Dedicated to Don Chris (Dogwhistle) Ian Jason Bowie Scott Shauna Every Poet Whose Challenge Arises With The Changing Time and The Crystal Princess. 4/14/00 12:51:26 AM They announced it in August In the Metro West Convention Center Under the Pulsing of a Revolving E On two screens on the outsides of a Green Argon Laser. The city was going to rise To the top of the spire At the epicenter of the Emerald field Near the intersection of Spadina and Front. Moments after the announcement The club kids were moving through the crowd With the multicolored slicks Dated October 23. The 23s were signifigant It was as if they had stepped out of the Stars to me December the date I had started making money October the day I would get out. I had it in the back of my mind It would be my last trip to eternity And it would be fabulous And there would be nothing to alter the course of events. It would be the end of a Trilogy The end of an Era The conclusion of a compacted year Of absolute entrenchment in potential jeopardy. I called Berns and asked for a discount ticket on the day of the show He put me on the guest list The guest list to the city in the clouds A circular flywheel in space. I was hoping to see Stormtroopers one last time Before the rhythm ebbed and my heart would start to grow old. I was 19 and my affair with Canada was about to end. Canada was a blond woman in black stretch pants Her long curling hair was drifting away into Ontario It had brushed my chest with sunglassed vision more than once in an eternal sea of hot chocolate in the back seat of the Shadow behind Tim Hortons and in a roadside motel in Windsor on travels to Detroit. Canada was moving in with other people People with herbal remedies for glaucomatic presidents Whose armed forces moved quickly with Uzis and Axes While the frost drifted lower toward the edge of America. I met her in her small apartments And watched her slowly siphon away my liquid assets Forgiving her wiles knowing that at some point the copious entanglements would come to a conclusion. In any case the Tower was there for the climbing And if there is a Tower to climb Then there is the reason for climbing it Because it is there. October 23rd arrived And the Gardiner Expressway rushed by in the late afternoon Minolta EDS Ford and Scotiabank Greeted me in their green bush form. I slid over the bump at 100 kilometers And noted the presence of an emergency telephone As the sidewalk to the right passed And then it was there Spadina Exit. I passed the closed Dome of the stadium Remembering the Blue Jays game I had taken the Pleasuredome barmaid to Maybe three weeks earlier. We had watched them play Chicago and visited The Olive Garden along the strip. She'd told me she had a Marine boyfriend and I'd ignored that fact And kept the conversation going All the way back to the Rainbow Center. I parked in back of Queen Street Down past the Pizza Pizza at the intersection opposite Speakers Corner The place where I had danced On Much Music Broadcast to the Northern World. It was a cool but comfortable evening The lamp posts began to cast glowing photons on the pavement And I passed the intersection of John and Mercer Remembering the place that was there before it changed to Oz. An industrialized nightclub that was called The Factory where I took my friends and I met the Roses While dancing in a Neon green Labcoat purchased from South Pacific Surplus Before I graduated with honors. The Factory was the origin of rave in Toronto When Ian spun Messiah and Apotheosis With the launch into bounce mode With Rotterdam Termination Source - Poing. Back before he changed stations Sheppard twisted disks there And set the metropolis on fire With his Techno Trip Compact Discs. Nothing could stop Oz from being beautiful except for the winged monkeys who decended on the child-like munchkins who were only trying to follow the Yellow Brick Road. I continued to wonder as I flowed into the soccer garbed massive at the base of the citadel Who is the Great and Powerful Oz and why does he project such a frightening spectre? Could I rub my purple and green sneakers together and Find my ticket back to Kansas? Or would I have to seek out Dorothy The Crystal Princess And ride on the heels of her ruby slippers transforming from the Tin Man back into a simple farmer? There was no music at Dusk But there was a sharp green light Gliding around the cylindrical structure beckoning into the fog. After my contemplations and greetings to groove riders and strangers of all sorts I signed the third page Was waved through security And stepped through the door. I'd already found my Purple Window Sky and I was grinning knowing they would never discover What was already in my spine. I was alone in the ebb of humans More alone than I had ever been Ecstatic that there was no chain to hold me to earth Ready to take the Tour of the Universe A close substitute for the Millennium Falcon. I was to be the closest to the Moon that I had ever been The Black Raybans shielding my dilated Pupils covered the fact that I would never fly Never pilot a shuttle like the one I commanded in Seventh Grade The one I commanded into implosion and fiery death in Alabama. The Speedball Surface Cleaner in nineteen eighty eight had made certain I would never pass an eye exam without lenses. The elevator stood before us as we anxiously waited The boy in the orange Fresh Jive shirt with the long hair And the girl with the twist tied pigtails sucking on the clear magenta pacifier attached to a whistle strap around her neck The people in Addidas stripes and painters caps And shirts with the Atlantis logo stenciled in black on rainbow tye dye. The soft electric sound of the bell sounded And we climbed into an empty cell Standing in noiseless anticipation during the smooth sensual voyage to the pinnacle of Architectural wonder. When I was in sixth grade I had been up there briefly Looking down and hoping to see from the observation deck The massive shopping center called Eaton On Yonge and Dundas where I had shopped with Robin and Isaac and Casey and Shannon and DeEtte. I opened fortune cookies in Chinatown and bought Sunglasses with straps and a Bryan Adams tape to listen to on my generic walk-man in the Train on the way back to my side of Niagara Falls. What my eyes showed me when the door opened was entirely different from that time. It took my ears a fraction of a second to recognize the audio But it was somehow different than what I had heard when I first came home from Chicago. The track phased the Shamen's voices through space between multi-dimensionally arranged speaker housings And before I knew what I was up to I had asked three people who was spinning The answer had been Ian. I circled around the outside of the centered ring and found the Tall Dark haired Jockey standing with one hand at a headset at his ear. The circles on the Mark II plates were slowing and quickening as his fingers manipulated the vinyl I watched him slide the pitch bar up toward the +8 marker He organized the flow into a white label. When he was done he turned and smiled He knew that I wanted to know what he'd been up to He handed me the slip cover for the single And I looked at the circuited design Wishing that I knew where on earth he'd discovered it. I let the cover rest on his crate and walked into the crowd. People were dancing against Virtual Reality Projected on the walls In the gaps where the souvenir stands would have been on any given day I tried to find space to let my arms fly and my feet shuffle But I was beyond excitement And the doughnut ring of the Cement Nail was becoming smaller as the elevators brought the teeming humanity into the sky. I decided to drop back to earth and take the Tour. The Tour of the Universe was a Computer Generated flight through a quadrant of the Galaxy that I had never before seen Girders of space stations and Planets and Constellations whizzed past Burning jets of color into my perspiring retinas. The seat I had strapped into tilted with the whole thirty member audience And my blood poured into my feet while my head stumbled on visual sketches of Android controlled vessels. I was lost in the Cosmos for five minutes in a physical man machine interface Wishing that I could never stop coming to the end of Gravity's Rainbow. In the middle of it all I remembered Tron and The Black Hole and Blade Runner and The Terminator and had a thought to pray that one of Gibson's novels would make it to film. I had a vision that I might someday try to put the whole kaleidoscope of HallucinoGen-X into print. And it was quickly forgotten as the Falcon swiftly landed and it's razored talons gripped the earth Ripping up the ground And needling my tear gassed brain Like "Good Bye Blue Skies" Just before the lights came back up. As I left the Pod and carefully set my feet on each stair I looked ahead to the tilted floor of the ramp And set myself into careful motion Swaying with the chosen thirty. Some said that the end was near I could see that the beginning was near And that there would be no turning back from the bath of liquid sunshine of the silicon age. At the base of the tower In the House Cage The Detroit people were playing Dimensional Holophonic Sound "The House of God" A dance fell into my step as I moved toward the elevator And at the entrance I spotted Jason. He was wearing his graphite lenses and smoothing back his blond hair The girl who'd sold me John Player Specials on the Mountain wasn't with him He was alone and headed for the T-Shirt vendors. I banged his knuckles with mine and told him about the Shamen mix and that I'd just come back from the Tour. I kept walking at the elevator and he kept straight on to the vendors and then I was in the frictionless tunnel again. At the top things had changed People were sitting on the rug with their backs to the glass And there was a little bit more space to dance I stood for a bit and just took in the sound piercing harmonic frequencies at enormous decibels in hyper-clarity Bass guitar samples that made the high ground shake Frenetic loops of syncopated swing Jazz drums Sputtered hiccups of Triangle and Sawtooth wave modulating in burst pulses. I was inside a lightning bolt of Audio watching the frantic motion of hip cracking thigh twists and knife handed jabs at the air. People wearing Sun-In and Electric Kool Aid in their hair passed as the Chinese Dragons of firecracking Wavesample barraged the pulse of my heart. I nearly cried at the beauty of the smiles on their lips and the smiles on their linen A warm tear ran down my right cheek as I smiled back and I swallowed it. The salt hit me and I realized that it was time to drink. Liquid Adrenaline was there. I had never directly competed with them So I let them fix me a drink. Banannas Wild Cherry Drink Mix Orange Juice and L-Phenylalanine. I gave them the extra two dollars for the choline because I wanted to see the walls breathe. I took a sip of the wet chipped cherry ice concoction and walked to the steps ringing the outer rim. The Liquid Adrenaline people were smiling too. That's when I lost track of time. I slowly set myself down on the steps and pulled a Benson and Hedges Special King Light Menthol cigarette from my sky blue pocket. The flame flickered on my Bic disposable after I struck the flint. I pulled my Sunglasses down slightly so that I could watch myself start the correct end of the cylinder smoke. I watched the ice swirl in the cup and had another sip. And I started to realize That I was beginning to forget. I was forgetting the sand volley ball pit of my first day away at school Forgetting paint ball in the forests of Illinois Forgetting fraternity football in the Rain of October Forgetting the Grain Alcohol behind the bar in the basement at the Pledge Halloween Party Forgetting Two girls who wanted to buy me a Pizza while I was trying to write a song Forgetting Cool Vaughn the Air Force ROTC and our Fortran 77 class Forgetting Business English and Being Carried to Calculus to earn a C while drunk Forgetting Being Thrown into the Pool after a game of Risk in the living room of the house Forgetting breaking my roomate's custom designed bed Forgetting having the telephone line installed in our Dorm Room Forgetting the picture of the Ace of Spades that Aiston kept hidden under the floorboards of his deck. Forgetting Brian's Japanese American Girlfriend who wound up in bed with another brother after too much liquor. I was forgetting that this had all started in WJJL on Main Street Where Scott and I Listened to The Announcements of the First Parties on CFNY. I was forgetting the computer engineering class at University at Buffalo Forgetting the Physics I took in high school Forgetting how I ran for class President and lost to Eugene Williams Forgetting Quickbasic and the Electronic Data Systems Co-Operative Forgetting my crush on Emily when she sang Bette Middler for our graduation Forgetting the Electronic Music Workshop and the people who taught me to compose Forgetting sitting on Karen's back porch with Rob plotting our final Yawp at class day Forgetting Sitting on the Rock above the Whirlpool with Robin S after Lunch at Emperor of China Forgetting Selecting the Engagement band at Zales in Summit Park Mall. Forgetting the Two Proms I attended with the same girl Forgetting that same girl as I left her on Regent Avenue far behind the Shadow to dive into Nitrous 013 Forgetting my Mother and my Father who labored day and night so that I could attend private schools Forgetting Ike Chris and the Boys Club kids on Portage and Niagara who taught me how to use the Apple Forgetting how to play Axis and Allies which I discovered in Huntsville Forgetting the Role Playing Games and the people I collected and left for my own peace of mind Forgetting the summer Bicycle Camp which took me through Genesee county and Batavia Forgetting taking Jennifer out alone on a Sunfish on Silver Lake during the Regatta. Forgetting a picnic lunch with Tammy who taught me to write poetry to go with my music Forgetting spending an afternoon in a wavepool with Mesha. Forgetting learning to speak Japanese with Charlene and then taking her to a Fugazi concert at Buff State. Forgetting the red haired girl that helped me obtain Depeche Mode 101 on video tape. Forgetting watching my first PG-13 Movie with a long haired Jennifer and seeing Charlie take Tom Cruise's Breath away. Forgetting Bowling at Bowl O Drome on Pine Avenue with Paula and my Brother and Sister. Forgetting Valentines Day at The Red Coach Inn with Michelle. Forgetting Programming Color Macros for C-NET on the Commodore 64. Forgetting Rides out to Glenn's houses in Lockport and Wilson to learn about PC's. Forgetting the thrown Chestnut incident on Lewiston Road near Deveaux manor. Forgetting being kicked in the head by Rob in Hyde Park at a picnic in the Fall. Forgetting my Math teacher who died of Cancer. Forgetting my grandmother whose estate bought me the Ensoniq Sampler. Forgetting my Grandfather who lived just long enough for Joshua to be born. Forgetting my Aunts and Uncles and their families Forgetting that I should have taken pride in my work and not kept it behind the closed wooden door of my tiny goblin green bedroom. In an instant after that final thought she was there My Crystal Princess. She had long brown hair and Ruby Slippers All I can call her now is Dorothy I never knew her real name. I left my half finished cup to rest on the tight fibers of the carpet when she asked me if I was Ok and if I wanted to dance. She put my hands on her shoulders and started slow. While in motion I looked at my chrome swatch and realized that I had been motionless for an hour. I also noticed that I was still holding the cigarette butt. I let the paper fall. I watched her chest heave with the music and followed their downward motion to her feet They rested beneath the edge of her long cotton shirt Beyond the rustling cut strings of torn blue jean And they were clicking together I didn't have to count They had hit many more than three times. I saw her face and she smiled at me and I smiled back her eyes were narrow and I could feel that we were both sweating like the clouds fogging the windows from the outside. Sweat that comes from just under the surface to make the skin of the face glow. It was all over both of us. I ran my fingers through my hair and it spiked up And I saw many figures of her dancing inside her platinum aura. She was here to take me home. In that instant I realized that what I thought was forgetting Was remembering. I had somewhere to go. The end of my time in the Tower in the Emerald Patch was here. I kissed her sweaty lips and we walked past each other. I made for the elevator at the center of the tower and walked past a spinning Disco Ball. There were Gel Lights on the floor in the coridor flashing patterns that flashed like Fourth of July Fireworks against the wall. America was coming back. I remembered standing in the Niagara Falls Convention and Civic Center with my Aunt when I was Five and pouring Pepsi in my eye to put out an ash that had fallen into it. I remembered choking on a lifesaver at the Auto Vue drive in while watching Luke Skywalker fire his Photon Torpedo into the Death Star. I remembered dashing up sloping sidewalks in Winter to drop rolled newspapers into mailboxes. I remembered that I earned my component Stereo system steaming Eggs for Breakfast at McDonalds. I remembered that the Wicked Witch was dead. I remembered that it was always safe to come home. And then I was in the elevator and there was the musty smell of already smoked marijuana And I put my sunglasses on and struck my lighter to another Menthol And the smell vanished as the doors opened And I was vibrating on a tiled floor And I caught the back of Jason's head and then I thought better of annoying him with my discovery after all where exactly does his concern for my travel come into play? He told me once that I'd meet up with him in Hollywood. And I thought Maybe it's better that the continuing party in Oz costs only $2.00. I will go for a little while And let the Medicine run its course. And find a clean bottle of Evian to run through my veins. And then I think The House of God was there through it all There is something of a Soul lurking out there and Maybe it is worth the cost of a careful ride home. But only after a brief visit to Rochester And a long float across a field full of people in England who've been around thirty years longer than I. In a white balloon painted with love While the Sun Machine was coming down. Manhattan in A Shirt and Tie by Christopher J. Bradley Dedicated to Ricky Lee Tammy Sharpe The Impulse Foot Soldiers Jim M and Jim A The New Culture Industry Manipulators Anyone Who Has Ever Had a Sales Crisis The Venture Capitalists of Advent All of my friends at Electronic Data Systems and The Social Reforming Activists of The University at Buffalo. Inspired by the Music Video for "Sleep Now in the Fire" by Rage Against the Machine broadcast on Much Music on Friday April 14 2000 At Sometime Around 4 PM. Transmission Coding Header: Warning - Electronic Letter Bombs not delivered by Federal Express may contain Action Provoking Patriotic Imagery. Do not read this poem partially. As proscribed by the laws of The United States of America: * o + # * o + # * o + # * o + # * o + # * Parental Advisory * o + # * o + # * o + # * o + # * o + # * Explicit Content that May Contain Statements of Fact. Transmission Coding Footer: The beginning is always a good place to start. Manhattan in a Shirt and Tie Back Up Behind countless vehicles of all sorts Old new auctioned and in between The monoxide drifted through clouded girders Above the blue-green current below Everyone behind the wheel slowly pushing forward toward the four dollar toll cages at the end of the George Washington A bicyclist passes wearing headphones And I realize that there is music Among the talking in the Shadow Z-100 Boosts SWV with a hint of Michael Jackson To the ears of the four of us Ready to sell Kansas and Boston From Black Bags loaded into the trunk in Jersey We might have been selling poppies Silver backed disks in sealed plastic I was going to work the streets with an Italian named Joe An ex Air Force mechanic named Steve A hispanic account manager named Jose And a moustached black man named Carl We all knew that we were going to do it "My Way" if things didn't work out and we were going to come home with money. The day shift was enough for a thousand words. We parked at Six A.M. And hit the bars and pornography houses on fourty second street with a furious vengeance that could only be characterized as a kind of anger for gross earning We enticed the Arab and ex-bounty hunter vendors and morning barkeeps to pick up the Greatest Hits of Billy Joel and Try on for size a digitally remastered Jefferson Airplane ticket We had Sinatra and Benettar And if you bothered to dig We had some Chris Cross to make you Jump The clerks ate up our numbing brain candy Especially when we featured "Dust in the Wind" for them. Everybody had a few nickels to drop And we were there to pick them up Like aluminum scavengers with Glad twist tie kitchen bags. As I walked with the canvas slung across my shoulders I saw huge billboards along the walks Women dressed in underwear Poked inviting fingers out at me Supermodels I'd never seen on television. People stood behind walls of plexi-glass waiting for busses. At first I was nervous about going up into buildings but that changed as the morning progressed. I walked through a bread line And watched a Mercedes and a Jaguar glide by among the Yellow Taxis. On the short steps of a building Out near the Parking Lot Somewhere around 9th A girl collecting change in a pencil can asked to see what I had to sell I showed her some Mozart when she said she wanted it Classical style She paid with a fifty. It was a new North America for me Everything was for sale You could feel it even if you couldn't see it. I could smell the moisture evaporating off the concrete As the legions of stock attired swindlers in sharkskin wingtips Marched uniformly down Wall With a lust for the shifting numbers Of the never halting ticker They stopped for no one And hurled change At the scraggled legless veteran Buried under the water stained wrinkled sheets of last weeks Journal I stayed away from that strip It was erie Like something you'd expect to see in Tokyo But the pale angle shouldered business suited traders Looked like Gillete Sensor sponsors with only one exception They had wide lowered eyes. I let myself imagine that their Rolexes cost as much as thourougbreads worthy of the Triple crown. In front of a New York pizza shop in the grid I bought a hip fanny pack from an Armenian. I started using it for convenience. Michelle had shown me one When we were in Physics class together A year earlier in nineteen ninety two. By noon I was sweating So I stepped into a store with no air conditioning. They sold everything from Canned soup to Wisk to Boones and Bottle Openers There was an Asian College girl behind the counter I bought a pack of cigarettes and an Arizona Green Tea. I tried to strike up a conversation without selling anything And she ended up taking 90215 and the Eagles with her before we went our seperate ways and I became an "Owner of a Lonely Heart." Next I found myself on Fifth Avenue standing across the street from a woman with long soft shiny brunette hair. She was wearing a long white Custom designed dress. It looked like the ones the models walked the runway in on CNN Fashion Extra. I can't pretend to be an expert on clothing But I was certain that the flowing transparent garment Cost far more than my parents' humble estate of residence Off a side street in DeVeaux. She was walking five identically trimmed brown dogs that stood only About two feet from the ground. I won't lie and claim that they were terriers. I will only say that they looked like What I imagined at the time a well groomed high pedigree Terrier might be. The five of them all had long strands Of thin hair that shined like gold In the summer sunshine as it dangled lightly before their hidden eyes. She looked like a master water skier Flowing behind them as they toddled Back and forth in front of her Along with the cement current Of the Metropolis. As I turned away from the cosmopolitan woman I looked at some delicately Embossed pottery in the window Of a shop with a black motif. Seven years has taken the Print scripted on onyx Visible from the curb Away from me. I walked into the storefront knowing that it was a bad idea. It was dark inside the shop In the mid afternoon light The clerks looked like clones of one another They were both dressed in jet black turtlenecks With small silver studs for earings. My brain took a double take seperating the one with breasts from the one without them. The dual sets of brown iris Frowned at me as I approached The curved polycarbon counter And their hands waved me away Without a word As if I were some sort of flea ridden nuisance The door closed hard but silently At my back and I was back in the jittering traffic Of elastic footsteps. Before getting caught up in the tide Of the river of knees and elbows I viewed the span in my field of view. There was a Jamaican of American descent That may have sprung up from a manhole cover Where the women with the dogs had floated by. I walked over to him Past the fenders of cars built in the seventies and eighties Frozen in time as if stuck in a still frame of moving film. The strap of the luggage was still heavy against my back. I opened my pack for him and Showed him my wares. He outsold me And I wound up with a plastic wrapped bundle Long brown sticks of cinnamon incense. I got away cheap. I didn't buy his Marley album because it didn't have "Buffalo Soldier" in the credits. The cart was a quick fold up table and while I was considering Whether or not he'd ever dealt Three Card Monte I discovered why he was really there. A quick flip of my left wrist indicated that it was five P.M. The pacers struck the grey stone and the asphault with a frenetic fury Winding among the traffic obstacles And ignoring the flashing signals That spotted through my lenses everywhere. I walked in the tangle for half a block Then ducked into a shop selling neckties and stereo components. A grey cardboard sign with medium sized marker print In carelessly formed characters indicated that the price on the ties was "Three for twenty dollars." I spotted one in a glass display case that I wanted. I flashed back while waiting for the salesman to a time five years earlier When a drama student girlfriend and I learned about the wonders of the neck tie While she taught me about the act of love and it's relationship to artistic license. We would have been discovered by my mother if she hadn't been a quick change practitioner. I talked to the olive skinned man when he approached Working consciously not to let the visions of the past escape my lips. The item I desired had a print of Dali's melting clocks dyed into its fibers. He casually informed me that The ties in the display case cost twenty-five dollars a piece. Our disagreement in price was understood And I casually found my way back to the street But not before I attempted to push the B52's and Talking Heads on him. It was almost a great afternoon for "Burning Down The House" with David Byrne. Trying to move that record drew me into thoughts of "Until The End of The World" As I washed fluidly back through traffic and down an alley a couple of doors down From that cascading toilet of Noir. The corridor opened on the right Into a market under a canvas tarp tent Where hustling vendors were selling Pirated copies of unreleased Hollywood Blockbusters taped on camcorders By devious videographers out to capture a few of the drifting Benjamins Awash in the current of Under the surface rough trade That couldn't exist on a level to any other cultural epicenter in the East. Maybe Chicago had a confidence game going But the operations of it's denizens were more visible And easier to successfully circumvent. A whiskery African near the Chicago Housing Authority Confronted me one morning As I had just crossed State Street to attend Economics class I was sporting a topcoat and boots And he stopped me asking for gasoline money Before the snapping retort I hoped to fire off He offered me his driver's liscense Out of curiosity I asked him to let me look at it. The face on the license was a Caucasian profile. The story got better when the line changed And suddenly the weather beaten photographic identification was his brother's. I handed it back to him and wordlessly proceeded across 33rd To the Escher concept building Where I carefully noted my Indian instructor's lecture. The net result of the exchange That I had with the quick talking Mexican Wearing a thick chain wrapped like a tow rope and a Boss T-shirt Was that he wanted half the product in my display for fifty dollars. I should have predicted that he would want to put the merchandise Into circulation himself. He gave me this "Yo no tengo lo mucho dinero" rap before I could reverse the pitch on him And I ended up mazing my way back to 42nd. When I came to the realization that I hadn't eaten since noon I blistered my drying eyes down the wide terrace of Broadway. Words sequenced along old theater buildings Formed two parallel lyrical structures of intentionally placed Public performance art. There were few strollers to click their heels against the humm of the motion Back on fifth. At some point in the space between The babblings of the signwork I managed to detect the scribbling of Chinese. I had to cross the street To narrow in on the menu written in English Taped to the window within a griddle of Kanji washed flyers In colors ranging from neon orange to pale mauve. I sat down and ordered Kung Po chicken From a waiter wearing an arm towel And let the cumbersome baggage of plastic and laser burned media Rest on the chair Fourty five degrees away. The dinner came with an egg roll hot and sour soup And my own tray of specially prepared tea With tiny cups lacking handles. The teapot was ornate With interwoven garden vines Flowering into petals that could only have bloomed In the climate of the opposite hemisphere of the globe. I thought back to renting Enter the Dragon Seeing Bruce Lee pose for combat among the mirrors And then free associated back to my first taste of Moo Goo Gai Pan Across from my old supervisor Rick Who hired me for a Christmas assault on the shoppers of Summit Park Mall. I helped him open the gate of Impulse World in the week preceeding Thanksgiving. He let me listen to tapes of the Smiths Information Society and The Cure Borrowed from Rob while my other friends From the 1990 class election campaign stormed in and out With newly purchased statues of Buddah And several finger excercise Balls. The Fascination Street of the Orient was alive in my hometown. Customers looking for more elegant acquisitions Sought out Kimonos Three foot wide animated collapsing fans And dressing blinds made of thin painted stone. I re-designed the Rad Sys dissipater software documents Before I was invited to work outside of the co-operative for him. My fingertips cruised through the menus of WordPerfect for Dos In a newly Moused world until I was virtually a professional at typesetting. When I left the tip I was generous Where else in the world can you be flooded By an ocean of good memories For four dollars and some change? I made it ten and the bell above the door signaled my exit. With a rejuvenated sense of Chi I worked beyond the magnetic poetry of the Broadway signs My foot falls finding turf all on their own as I changed streets And crossed the uninviting face of a brownstone. What appeared to be an old factory of unknown production capacity beckoned. Cutting through unlocked portal windowed wooden doors I broke the threshold of the complex and found my way forward To a freight elevator with diamonded collapsing brass rails And climbed aboard for a ride Not unlike one of my meddlings earlier in the day. I was hoping that this engagement would come to a similar result To that of my morning conquest Which had not been far from where I stood at that moment. To the general misfortune of the endeavors of humanistic reformers Who had recently made headlines With news of the calculating coldness of the Kathy Lee Gifford Advertising and Manufacturing establishment The members of which attempted to effectively put a stranglehold on market share For women's discount business attire Through a here to remain anonymous national retailer My target audience for the pre-prepared shtick of my present employer Evaporated as I assessed that these were not members Of the privileged blue collar class of low level middle management That I had had the good fortune of establishing For the most part A direct line of friendly convenience oriented one way communication That generally concluded with an educated consumers intent to purchase. These beaten brows were those of the victims Of the Ancient Art of War in the condition of the economics Of the modern capitalist mode of operation By stealthy less than aristocratic foreigners Making a business of the corruption of the frail American Dream That barely came to realization for a very few citizens of this country In the time pre-dating the Johnson administration. The Sweat Shops of the city on the island were real. Above the streets of Liberty The pale green copper heroine in all her glory stands with a torch To light the path to Freedom For both woman and man alike. With the dead Kennedy's she showed us the next step into orbit. Lunar Landers launched by the National Association of Space Administration. With Reagan she helped us realize the means To align the stars in our favor With sattelites and telescopes placed by Columbia and the Challenger. And with patience and progress She will lead us toward a recognition For the need for societal reformation. One day the bamboo cage Housing those Missing In Action From the front lines Of the healthy Educationally enabled Family construction force Will have it's flimsy frame unfastened. Entangled threads of stitch will cause the fracture of the needle of brute ignorance That binds the beauty of the imagination Of the creatively souled Chinese American To the fabric of the garments Of the globally dominated Superstore consumer. Bringing the political garblings Of my only partially aware mind To a close It can be concluded in abbreviated form That the Overseer sent me away From a battalion of potential music listeners With two simple words That need not be repeated for the simple sake of commonality. As he closed the wooden gate that divided me from the attention Of the poor spirits Of the class that goes without relief Within the living field of possibility That we like to reflect on As we fixate ourselves on Network Television programming From couches so easily earned With the stylistic business Of simple scientific methods learned During the teenage years That cannot be afforded As a result of their contracts with the doers of the clandestine evil Of the philosophically politically and socially challenged whose motivation lies with those residing in the valley below the river Styx. For the sake of clarification Greed. To bring the world up to date I am subject to the whims of greed at times. I find myself in a Casino on occasion In an attempt to pick up Lady Fortune And have her spin the revolving marble of her wheel To line my pockets with lint I see little curvature in the spines of the Master of the Roulette wheel He gets a full range of motion At his long digit coded tables in Ontario Accept my smile as a token Of appreciation to one particular Casino Associate From the recently opened port of Hong Kong Of whom I am particularly fond For his ability to light up the magic numbers That I randomly select. He knows that there is a place for him And the parents that gave him to Chance Before he has scholared his first academic achievement. I'm betting that he will find that place. I walked out of that Sweat Shop Believing that I had seen The only atrocity I would find in America And I made my way cautiously back to my car Where my passengers had been anxiously awaiting my arrival For well over an hour. We released the trunk And four doors closed on the compact black cherry sedan. Before Joe realized that the radio wasn't playing We were wedged in behind the freight Of the roughly two ton carriages of engineered steel Exiting by way of the waterfront at the base of the urban cityscape of New York. We saw our squeegee men and rose peddlers During the Tortoise's race back to the rails of the Washington To engage in Mass Transit And find our well deserved rest At a Jersey Motel off the Garden State Parkway But not before a quick stop in a small plaza For multidirectional product exchanges At a Dunkin Donuts That never closes. I think we may have dropped a Zeppelin or two on them And when we counted what was left There were a few copies of that whole "I want to be a part of it" compact disc that had gone missing somehow. Hey You never know. This Week's Lotto Jackpot is Seventy Five Million Dollars. Truly Brilliant Orange By Christopher J. Bradley 12/3/00 11:13:10 PM Jennifer We were Aquatic together In the Summer of 1985 We swam and sailed and skied the water together. We had dinners together In a newly built building At Asbury on Silver Lake. I had a camera But I only captured one picture of you Holding my hand Your hair was a truly brilliant orange. We sat around a warm camp fire In the middle of the week And you hugged my cold damp shoulders from behind While the canoes rested against the high banks of the pier. I thought I was in love at age 12 Two years before I would wear my first pair of glasses. You told me about Herkimer diamonds And living without Rock Music. I hoped to see you the next year When I came back. But I assume that because I never wrote back To your gem stoned letter You decided against going the next year. I should have written back But we would never have been able to span the distance. Someday maybe you will come to visit me In a dream or after I've written enough. And I will get a chance to view The colors of what you've done With your Truly Brilliant Orange. A Fiance' Not Forgotten By Christopher Bradley 1/17/00 4:33 AM Dedicated to Michelle Garvey Photographs of the two of us Lie in a box from an old stereo Underneath my bed With my other rememberances Of times past. When I sift through all of them You are there in the forefront In your purple dress The one you wore to the prom. I remember taking rides with you Out to the hamburger stand In the back woods of Lockport And eating curly cue french fries Without ketchup. Those were the days when I was still afraid To try certain new foods. For Valentines Day The year I came back from Chicago We went to the Red Coach Inn And drank flaming cofee And you wore your blue gown I could have sworn I would have loved you until I died. You had received the ring before then On your graduation day After the ceremony In my car. It had been my secret graduation present to you. Somehow Maybe when you came to visit in Chicago I felt like I had changed. I had seen the dark side of the male mind at 18. I cannot re-count the events of that semester to everyone. I am fortunate that I had you to think of And that some wit remained. It came to me later Long after I had demanded the ring back That it had been my own doing And that I left your house in turmoil. I should have realized That you were a person too But that realization hadn't come to me Until the recent past When I discovered That people hurt That I hurt When I think of what I did To the girl who mattered most In the fantasy of who we were supposed To become When I first imagined That we would be married at 22. Words cannot change a life already lived But perhaps they can heal the wounds of the past At least in a small way. I hope that your heart mends with time And that you find a man better than I. If I could take back the images I showed you And swallow the last drop of alcohol I told you was safe to taste and fall off another bench And break my fourteenth rib I would do it again so that you wouldn't have Had to be my Eve. Radiant Dawn by Christopher J. Bradley For Dawn McKinley May 5 1999 6:26 AM She rises We watch her Holding Hands As the moon sets. A neighbor looks on As we kiss in the new light She who has held me through darkness Keeps my skin warm In the dewy morning grass Where we sit cross legged. Smoke filters through the air The black maple breathes in our decadence While birds sing Their voices cry out from all angles. A car passes through the tree lined street A traveler is headed for work His day is beginning All steel and concrete And I have you The Dawn of the Millennium. Sky Blue Irises by Christopher J. Bradley 12/3/00 10:51:58 PM It was Thanksgiving time again And I waited around the house for most of the evening For my car to arrive So that I could go to meet you. You were sitting in the bar when I arrived A Lewiston Brew House And talking with your sister. It had been 7 years since we'd spoken. Chinese was still new to me on our last dining experience I had Chicken and Mushrooms at Emperor of China The small restaurant on Main Street served tea with the meal. And I thought I could talk to you forever. You wore a long flowing gown made of thin flowered tissue cloth And smoked clove cigarettes across the table at me You called yourself a granola Whatever that was it sounded appealing to me. We were both college students And you were not single. You suggested that we go for a walk along the gorge And being in nature with you seemed like a nice idea. We stopped somewhere in the middle and sat on a rock And talked and shared silence While the sun glinted from the ripples of the water below. It was a warm summer day and one not easy to forget. That day traced back to afternoons marching through the sticks of the wild grass Behind your house where we chased a frog In seventh grade And the time we went horseback riding After the Haloween that I dressed as Indiana Jones for. I remember that a year earlier You lent me a casette tape of The Cars And I copied it so that I could hear "Magic" and "Hello Again" over and over And we had Spelling Bees and Studied Biology at school. At our most recent meeting When I was staring out into space I was thinking about whether or not I would have the courage To strike out on my own and somehow make myself worth your attention again. Maybe try to get a higher paying job somewhere far away from here Or live differently For a chance to touch your short dark hair Or return your silent postured gaze again Like the one I held with you for only a moment In the first November of the Millenium In the glaze of a chill winter evening On Center street. As Winter Begins By Christopher J. Bradley 11/16/00 9:52:48 PM I stand outside The wind blustering against my face And tugging at the wings of my jacket. The crinkling leaves are floating on the air Around my legs. I have worked in the gym tonight My arms and legs feel strong and warm Against the cold. A cup of coffee on the drive home Went well with some cigarettes. The maple's falling petals shield me from tiny raindrops Almost snow they flick against my face when they sneak past. The drops induce dreams of other places Warmer places like Florida or Alabama Maybe South Carolina Where I was born. Seeing photographs of myself as a child last night Moved me to remember that winter can be fun Growing up at Grammy's house In the winter of 1977 during the Blizzard Was terrifying and ecstatic all at once. I played with Pebbles then A beagle with a disposition like no other And a hunger for anything edible and visible. I also played with new toys A plastic tennis set And a ring stack. At Grammy's house I could see everything wooden and green The Christmas tree covered with glass ornaments Sparkled in the darkness that winter. And we ate and drank and shared the spirit of family. A couple years pass in my mind And I find myself walking to school in the snow Trudging along heavy packed curbs of grey From the plows the night before. Finding my way to Maple Avenue. Around that time I played my first video game And got my Christmas wish To have Space Invaders to play at home Dad tried unsuccessfully to sneak the Atari 2600 Past the doorway from his rusted blue Maverick. We enjoyed the holidays a few days earlier that year. My brother and I went sledding with my father For a couple of years in a row As we got bigger and stronger The Toboggan was heavy And Clover Hill was tall. But what a rush it was To slide through white powder On the circular sleds And that huge wooden thing And to stop just short of the upturn That protected us from the cars slushing by. The walk to school got further When we started attending St. Teresa's And the wind was colder with each successive winter As my ears grew. But the music got louder And clearer and that's when I started dancing. There were winter dances at St John's school In LaSalle The winter of seventh grade I found myself with Jennifer Gallheger in my arms To the song that was prized as the most popular For it's length Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin. That winter I asked her to the movies And we saw Top Gun With Tom Cruise And I held her hand When Maverick made Kelly McGuiness quiver But we never kissed. My cigarette burns out And I walk back inside the house Past the evergreen bushes In front of the space Where I built so many snowmen. But I continue to dream Until my fingers reach the keys That put those dreams into words. My freshmen year at high school I discovered Paula Who kissed me at a homecoming dance And we bowled together In a league that winter. The shoes always clung to my wet socks when I took my boots off. I also found more video games And left the house less Except for shoveling snow The next few winters As I concentrated on improving my grades. In 1991 I experienced a winter without Michelle Alone in Chicago Among grown boys We celebrated a drunken Christmas party And I didn't see them Until I had given up on school there. When I did come home Michelle and I made up for lost time Holding each other In front of the fireplace On blankets laid out on the blue carpeted floor. Then there were several more winters And I found myself standing on the street Confronted as a loiterer. I spent Thanksgiving in a hospital Recovering my wits. And then there was the Christmas a year later With more of the same Due to some Christmas Shopping anxiety nightmare And fear of more of the same. I spent Christmas out of commission as well. The snow fell but it didn't touch my face much. So now that the winter is starting I hope to be prepared I'll not be planning any wild escapades or escapes I just want to watch the flakes fall from the heavens And glisten on the swooping winds that make my windows rock in the night time. On the weekends my computer will humm with electricity While I type away and try to figure out all of the wonderful things it can do And I will spend less time in the stores And more time talking to Mom and Dad. Because when we are all together Brothers and Sister included There is still something special Not to be missed : The spirit of family and Joy of Winter today And Winters past We know how to protect against the cold And we know how to play in the snow And we know why Christmas is. When The Fierceness of Winter Breaks by Christopher Bradley Dedicated to All of my Friends and Family I will watch the flowers bloom This broken yard chair will support me While I finish reading Homer and Sky washes in the water sprayed from the hose of my seven year old brother. I can see myself at dinner again with a special girl at a Middle Eastern restaurant In Rochester. I will go to the hill where I met the Salamander And sit to write a story And try to remember things Like evenings in the University Library with a world traveling friend. I know that I will spend time in cafe's in Allentown Meeting an occasional acquaintance And hiding from the real me of the past. I will dream about becoming musical again. I might press down an Ivory key or two. If I am lucky the plastic ones might lead me somewhere. I will visit my mother and my aunt on evenings when they are working near the border. I will try to take Dan to the bookstore again and make a day of it. I will speak with my sister and her friends in a diner and ask her about her Love paper and who she's met through her studies And buy her boyfriend a cappuchino. Mike and I will begin our conquering of the earth via the internet And Ryan will send me an e-mail saying that he wants to know what we have been up to. There will be a unique excursion or two with Patrick and Shennen will call and invite me to see his new child And have some Marshmallows over a bonfire behind his grand father in-law's old house. I might bring a rattle or some Mocassins for the baby. I will stop by the University to drop off paperwork and share some of my history with my professors Letting Gansworth know that I've finally finished reading his novel. I will give a friend a ride home from work And finish reading the Gospel of Mark. I will spend some time in a supermarket and buy some more yogurt and cream cheese. And open a can of Spaghettios. I will participate in watching cinema of all types Mission Impossible 2 and anything new with Spacey or Jolene. I will try out the video phone and have some fun with some Californians. And I will keep trying to remember that Kilamanjaro didn't have to be cold to be deadly. And there won't be a day that I don't think of a thousand poems that I will never have the time to write about the forever numbered leaves of my maple. Category:Catalog